


One part hope, Two parts fear

by Louis_the_Snake



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bullet wound, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Damian gets shot, Hurt/Comfort, I promise I have no idea what this is about, Kryptonian Biology, Kryptonian Culture & Customs, Kryptonians have sharp teeth when they're mad fight me, Mutual Pining, Protective Jason Todd, Self-Indulgent, Sleepovers, Supersenses, Watching Someone Sleep, Whump, just fuck me up, please don't read this if a 13y.o. getting shot will hurt your head, super flare, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louis_the_Snake/pseuds/Louis_the_Snake
Summary: Damian Wayne isn't known for being selfless, or for that matter, particularly protective. Jon doesn't know what to do when he isn't the one taking hits for his partner.
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 391





	1. Chapter 1

“Damian!” Jon dove to cradle his best friend, but D pushed him back.   
“Catch the suspect!”  
“Oh, right!”  
Jon flew over and picked up the suspect. Only one shot had been fired, but he seemed to be out of ammo already, discarding his gun. Jon was glad for it, he didn’t feel like testing his sometimes-bulletproof skin on a night like this.  
Damian sat up and clicked his tongue at his side. Blood flowed from him, hot and thick and smelling like a foundry. He quickly pulled out a chunk of green mineral formed into a crude bullet. Where a common street thug had gotten kryptonite could wait, for now. He closed it in the lead case from his belt, coughing to check the pressure in his abdomen. There was no negative pressure, and his lungs seemed to be functioning, so he slapped a pad of adhesive gauze over the gaping hole. He could suck this up for an hour or two.  
A quick chat with the police and a shot “I’m not coming back to the fortress” to Jon later, he called his bike and sent it home, leaning on the handlebars to keep an eye on the road and try and rest. Alfred was surprised to see him home so early, but understood when he waved the lead case up.  
“Did Lexcorp or Wayne Tech have a break-in?”  
“It wasn’t Wayne, Master Damian.”  
“Lexcorp then.”  
Damian hopped onto the metal table and peeled off the soaked gauze pad.   
“You really shouldn’t have removed it, sir, you know how much damage you could’ve done.”  
“I handled the situation, Pennyworth. I was with Jon.” Damian hissed at the antibacterial he used to clean himself up, “Don’t tell father?”  
“I do believe I work for one of you and it isn’t the pubescent currently bleeding out on my table.” Alfred prepared a suture kit.  
After he was cleared for bedtime, Damian sat at his desk and cleaned the equipment he’d used that night, news about Lexcorp scrolling on his tablet.  
Jon rapped his knuckles on the window, then drifted in without waiting for a response. He knew he’d triggered some of the alarms and been caught on camera, but also that he was one of the people allowed to do that.   
“Hey, Why’d you come home instead of back to base? Was it a bad hit?”  
“It was fine. Shouldn’t you be heading home?”  
“Mom said it was fine if I stayed over, as long as Alfred let me off the helicopter before you land at school.”  
“You just want to ride in the helicopter.”  
“Hey I don’t question your alternative motives.”  
Damian scoffed and got to changing into sleep clothes. Jon could fend for himself in the manor by now, so he didn’t need to babysit. Jon seemed to have other ideas. He stayed by Damian, brow furrowed at the bandages.   
Forgoing a shirt, not wanting to move his arms that much, Damian got down to stretch out his legs. Alfred was going to insist on bedrest and constant medical attention, but Damian had shit to do- like investigate the break in at Lexcorp. Well break-in, or willful distribution by Lexcorp.   
Jon sat beside him lightly, like he weighed less than a feather.   
“Why didn’t you ninja your way out of getting shot?”  
“I don’t ninja my way anywhere.”  
“You know what I mean.”  
Damian knew how to resist torture by water, fire, blades, pressure, stretching, and most chemical agents. Jon’s pleading eyes were a different matter entirely.  
“It doesn’t concern you.”  
“Uh, yeah it does! My partner got shot on my watch and is now being cagey about it. I know you wouldn’t get shot by some petty street thug who telegraphed so much unless you were trying to!”  
“You didn’t see him load his weapon?”  
“No?”  
“Just know that this is the best outcome of the entire situation, actually, and that way you won’t burden your feeble mind, qalbi.”  
“Don’t insult me in languages I don’t speak.”  
With a huff and a sigh, Damian got up and went to his four-poster bed. Jon floated after him.  
“How on earth is you getting shot the best outcome?”  
“Do not push this, Jon.”  
“I’ll just go ask Alfred.”  
“Jon I can and will knock you out.”  
“No you won’t.”  
Jon left before Damian could decide if he was actually bluffing or not.

Afred did not answer Jon’s questions, far too used to keeping secrets for a child to talk him out of them. When Jon returned to Dami’s room, Damian seemed to be asleep. On his back, hands at his side, like a corpse. Jon took the chance to look under the bandages with his x-ray vision.  
Guts never stopped moving, especially around the abdomen. It looked like something had dented the top ridge of his hip, but the guts didn’t seem to be spilling out. Jon gently rubbed over the bandages for a moment, then left to find a gym somewhere.  
None of the gyms in Wayne Manor were especially suited for a metahuman, not to mention a half-kryptonian. Jon missed the Fortress of Attitude, but didn’t want to be more than a millisecond from Damian.   
The gym he settled on was already occupied. One of the ex-robins, but not the skinny one, built like a brick you-know-what house, fought the air. He had a streak of white in his hair and an old leather jacket on. Jon was surprised to see holsters around his thighs. He didn’t know any of the bats used guns. Dude was skilled, no doubt, but Jon had no idea what martial practice he was watching. He definitely couldn’t explain it.   
“You’re the superbrat, right?”  
His voice sounded like the rough scrape of a cold diesel engine.  
“Oh, I guess. I’m Jon.”  
“Demon got injured.”  
“How do you know about Damian’s wound?”  
“Drake caught a glimpse of him limping into the cave.”  
“And gossip travels fast around here, right?”  
“So you’re why. Wanna spar?”  
“Excuse me? I’m why? I don’t want to spar with you right now.”  
“Has the lil’ shit told you?”  
“Told me what?”  
“That’s a no.”  
Jon cracked his knuckles and sat on the upright horse.  
“Aight so. Drake’s been investigatin’ this shit going down at Lexcorp, something shady with one of their branch offices.”  
“Ok?”  
“And you know about Lex’s obsession with your daddy.”  
“Right.”  
“Well, the demon brought in a sample of kryptonite someone molded into a bullet. Was in his stomach.”  
Jon bit his thumb.  
“Don’t get worried. Lil’ Damian Satan Wayne ain’t told you for your own good.”  
“So he didn’t want to look protective?”  
“Nah, he just doesn’t want you feelin’ guilty or investigatin’ anything were kryptonite might be involved. That he’s not holding.”  
Jon growled. That was new. Maybe he should ask his dad about that? Not to mention how his teeth felt… really big in his mouth… and his skin felt cold.  
“You good kid?”  
“Mn.”  
Jason put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, leaning down. Concern colored his sharp features.  
“Aye, superboy, look at me.”  
Superboy was gone from him like an Allen family speedster after food.  
“Fuck.”  
“Language, Master Todd.”

A kryptonian speeding into Damian’s room didn’t wake him, because he was already awake. A kryptonian landing on his chest alarmed him. Jon wasn’t too heavy or anything, but the waves of heat, growling, and red/orange glow caught Damian off guard.   
His knife shattered on Jon’s sometimes-impervious skin, a killing strike stopped by whatever kryptonian deity governed friendly fire. Once Damian was awake enough to see Jon wasn’t a threat, he felt the delayed pain of moving with his wound.  
“Get off of me, qalbi.”  
Jon was beyond convincing. His eyes were solid red, and Damian could feel his skin drying as if in the desert sun. His teeth were strangely longer, sharper than usual. His face, usually the picture of young mirth was absolutely still with rage.   
Few things scared Damian in a way he couldn’t immediately counter. The possibility of witnessing a Super Flare point-blank was something he had no contingency for. He understood now why father feared Superman’s raw idealism. This wasn’t his best friend, this was a nucular weapon that happened to talk.  
“Superboy.”  
Red eyes rounded on on the thin teen pinned under Jon.  
“D?”  
“I’m here, Jon.”  
Jon groaned, pressing his nose into Damian’s hair. The slight burning smell of a living mammal was really calming him down. Damian’s hair was curled in the heat.   
“I’m ok, Jon.”  
“No you’re not….”  
“Habibi….” Damian hugged his kryptonian, shaking his head.  
The air cooled. Jon’s eyes dimmed, down to a cool blue.  
“I’m fine. I have taken worse wounds. A common thug couldn’t take down Robin.”  
“You took a bullet for me.”  
“And I’d do it again.”  
“Purely a tactical thing, right?”  
“You’re my partner.”  
Jon squeezed him gently, closing his eyes.  
“D if I lose you…”  
“Life will go on.”  
“No, D-”  
“Life must go on.”  
“I don’t know if I could handle losing my closest friend.”  
“You would handle it. I want you to go on.”  
“I’d burn the world to the ground for you.”  
“Don’t let your father hear you talking like that. Besides, I’ll make sure you never will.”  
“He can always hear everything. You can’t guarantee you won’t just die. Any gunshot is a roll of the dice!”  
“That’s the same risk as always!”  
Jon kissed his forehead.  
“You’re my partner, D, if you get hurt for me it pisses me off.”  
“Strong words, smallville.”  
“Shut up you know I mean it.”  
Damian relaxed the tension in his back, giving into the hug.  
“Jon-”  
“Please shut up.”  
“Habibi I just want to lay down.”  
“Oh, of course.”  
Jon laid D down without agitating his wound, and didn’t let him out of his arms until the morning, when they had to get ready for school.


	2. A Dash of Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this continuation was suggested by a comment on the first chapter! I wasn't planning on continuing, so if this seems a little contrived, sorry.   
> Damian tries his best, and Jon tries harder.

Damian is dressed before his alarm wakes Jon. His uniform, impeccably ironed and expertly applied, looked more like a suit than a school uniform. It covered his bandages alright.  
“Hey, D, why don’t you sleep some more? Alfred and I can make you breakfast.”  
“I don’t need coddling.”  
“Of course you don’t.”  
Damian shot him a look until he got up and started putting on his backup uniform.  
“It’s a little short.”  
“And far too broad. Let’s go.”  
Alfred hadn’t made waffles like he did usually when Jon slept over, but omelettes, with all the fixings. One was vegetarian, for Damian, but the other had ham and bacon bits. The boys ate, then went with Alfred out to the helipad.  
All day at school, Jon was distracted. He looked like he was daydreaming to teachers and his classmates, but he was actually listening in on Damian’s conversations. The only one that seemed out of character for him was asking Coach to let him take off gym. He showed Coach one of the bruises on his leg.   
“You got that from falling off a bike?”  
“Dirtbike, sir.”  
“Oh, alright then.” The gym teacher relented. Rich brats were always unpredictable.  
Jon called his mom after school.  
“Can I spend another night with Damian? I’m really worried about him.”  
“Jon you can’t inconvenience Alfre-”  
“He got shot, mom. Protecting me.”  
“Is he alright? How bad was it?”  
“He said it wasn’t serious, but he took off gym today.”  
“I see. Let me talk to Alfred. Come home and pack a bag, though. You might both play hooky tomorrow, just in case.”  
After heading home, packing a bag, showering in his own bathroom, and getting a kiss from his mom, Jon made his way back into Damian’s room. Damian was missing, which meant he was probably somewhere in the manor. Jon listened for heartbeats- His dad said he could tell which heartbeat was Batman’s, but Jon hadn’t figured out how to distinguish individuals yet. The one that sounded youngest- that is, pumping around a smaller body, as all the heartbeats in the house were ridiculously strong, except maybe alfred’s, which was a little weaker- was right next to another one. Tim’s room. Jon zipped over to- as he thought of it- the Detective Nest.  
“I swear if you go after that shit I’m telling Dick you let some asshole shoot you!”  
“Screw you, Drake, you can’t threaten me with the same thing every time!”  
“The hell I can’t! Cause you know how disappointed he’d be, and how much worse that’ll be than how pissed Bruce is gonna be!”  
“TT.”  
Listening in the doorway was getting a little awkward now, but Jon preffered it to having Tim’s full attention, or being closer to Damian making that face.   
Even with his superspeed, it was hard to keep track of what happened next. Barely a beat passed and Damian was facefirst on the ground, in a hold. Jon used to wonder how Tim, by all accounts a nerd and kind of a wimp, kept up with world-class gymnasts, martial artists, and various metahumans, but seeing him shut Damian’s tackle down with a single fluid movement assured him Tim was fine.   
“How’d you do that?”  
Tim turned to Jon, setting Damian loose and locking eyes with the kid. Jon felt like a puzzle Tim had solved in his head and just had to be picked up and put in the right configuration. Like a rubix cube.   
“Oh, Jon. Don’t worry about it. Can you help me convince the beast he needs a break?”  
“Stay out of this, Kent.”  
“Well, I agree with Tim on this, D.”  
“I said shut up, Jon.”  
Damian sprung up, holding his side, and snarled at Tim. He grabbed Jon’s hand and pulled him out into the hall.  
“If you don’t fly me where I want to go, I’ll go alone.”  
“What? You can’t-”  
“Yes or no, qalbi.” Damian was more desperate than Jon had ever seen him.   
“I’ll take you, jeez, you can’t go alone!”  
“Good.”  
Damian crawled on Jon’s back and tugged at his hair.  
“Mush.”  
A branch office of Lexcorp, supposedly housing the paperwork and managers for some land surveyors in the Gotham area, was the only place Damian wanted to go. After Damian broke through the second lock, it was pretty clear that was a front. Damian muttered at the computer and chewed on his lockpick.   
“Why are we here?”  
“He’s gonna keep records on the- well, he’s calling it Krypto-lite.”  
“What?”  
“It’s a manufactured version, not genuine. Look, here, it’s a little different, chemically.”  
“Think it’s still dangerous?”  
“I wouldn’t risk exposure.”  
“Yeah, ok.”  
Damian decides the order he wants to visit the Krypto-lite recipients, and Jon got more anxious. He wanted to focus on keeping Damian safe, but Damian seemed too focused to talk down from this.   
They knock on Harleen Quinzel’s door. Damian knows she’s home on a monday night. Some bulky dude in a frilly apron opened the door and called inside:  
“Oi, red, Harley, some….uh….. Some fuckin’ kids!”  
Harley popped into the doorway.   
“It’s lil’ bird and his Super bro. Ivy, do we got any kid drinks?”  
She was wearing a loose ‘I heart Gotham’ tee and her underwear, smiling wide.   
“You are not invited in.” Ivy peeked over her shoulder.   
“Quinzel, Isley, we received intel that you’ve been entrusted with a kryptonite substitute. I’m sure you’re aware this violates your parole. Would you mind surrendering it?”  
“Oh, course Darlin’! I figured I might should’ve called Batsy, but it’s not like I got his number!” Harley ducked back inside.   
Ivy’s eyes drifted over Jon, then landed on Damian.   
“The bat’s letting you run his errands in this state?”  
“He doesn’t know, Isley.”  
“I’m here to take care of him!”  
Ivy handed Damian a small vial of purple paste.  
“Have you been breaking your own parole, Pamela?”  
“It’s not even distilled. They can’t arrest me for grinding up some medicinal herbs.”  
Damian inspected the vial.  
“It should help you heal, Robin, analyse it, do whatever you have to to be comfortable with it, but I promise you it is safe. It’s a nutrient paste. It won’t heal you on its own or anything, but it could shorten your recovery time.”  
“... Thank you, Dr.Isley.” Damian took a deep breath and tucked the vial into his belt.   
Harley jumped into the doorframe and handed Damian a small rock that glowed dimly.   
“Here ya go, Sweetie.”  
Damian quickly tucked it into his lead case as Harley pat Jon’s head.   
“N’ if that’s all, Ivy n’ I have a movie to talk over.”  
“Thank you, Doctors.” Damian tipped his head just slightly.  
“Course Darlin’, tell Brucie an’ Dick I give ‘em my love.” Harley waved them off.  
Jon hummed.  
“If they all go that smoothly, I’m not too worried about you.”  
“I’m trying to deal with the easier people first.”  
“So who’s next?”  
“The Killer Croc.”  
“That doesn’t sound like it should be considered easy!”  
“Don’t worry. He likes kids.”  
“Um.”  
Damian pointed him to the Sprang River, just past Gotham Academy, where the cool waters of Gotham River turned brackish and foul from the Miller Bay, and plastic bags and beer bottles gathered in the roots of ancient trees.   
“Waylon. Please come out. It’s just me and Superboy here. I don’t want a fight.”   
Jon let Damian down and Damian crouched, slapping the water. It passed Jon’s mind that Damian might be a little delusional, talking to the water, until a large form emerged.  
“Robin… You mean it? No fighting?”   
“No fight, Jones. Were you given a green rock?”  
“No, no rock.”  
“Did someone from Lexcorp give you something?” Jon asked.  
“Superboy. Step back, now, it’s in my blood.”   
“In your-”  
Weylon stepped out of the water, dripping wet. His eyes and cheeks glowed slightly green, so did his claws.   
“Oh, Weylon.” Damian reached up to touch his arm.  
“I want it out, kid. I don’t want this! I don’t need more shit to slog through. Ain’t I got enough?” He growled.   
“Please calm down, Jones.”   
“Are you ok?” Jon asked.  
“Leave me alone, boys. I want to be alone. I’m happy to be here in these woods.”  
“I know you are, Jones, but we can’t have unsecure kryptonite samples. More people will hunt you down. There’s a Yacht Basin just south of Amusement mile, you can get there by following the coast. There’s a yacht there, it’s owned by Bruce Wayne. He rarely uses it, and security doesn’t care much about checking on it unless the alarms go off. The code is 0816. You can get inside and sleep in there, there should be some food. I will come as soon as I figure out how to remove the chemical from your blood.”  
Weylon nodded slowly, slouching enough to look Damian in the eyes.  
“Will you put me back in Arkham?”  
“Not unless it is the only option left to me.”  
“You’re smart. You can figure it out. So I’m gonna trust you. If you screw me over, kid, I’ll gut you.”  
“I understand.”  
Croc slid back into the cool water, sighing his relief from the dry air on his skin.   
“Is he… always so mellow?”  
“Weylon is a rare beast.”  
“Crocodile man?”  
“A good man. He just happens to have a form of regressive atavism.”   
“Huh. I thought it was a skin condition?”  
“That gave him a tail? And the bone structure changes?”   
“Mnn.”   
“I would like to take care of the next one on my own.”  
“No.”  
“You aren’t going near Slade Wilson while he has a kryptonite substitute!”  
“You thought I’d let you talk to Slade Wilson alone?!”  
“It is safer for me to negotiate with Wilson alone than with a volatile metahuman.”  
Jon glared at him, then picked him up.   
“Tell Tim, or Jason, or whoever, where Deathstroke is. You are going to bed. They can talk to him and collect the Krypto-lite, and you’re gonna give Tim all the data we’ve collected.”  
“What? No! Unhand me!”   
“Damian, there’s a time to be so self-reliant, and a time to rely on your brothers. You don’t have to do everything alone.”  
Damian opened his mouth.  
“D, you don’t have to save me all by yourself.”  
Damian closed his mouth. The whole flight back, he was silent. He didn’t even complain that Jon was carrying him like a princess. He let Jon lay him to bed and bring him his tablet. He updated the case files, then sighed.  
“Have you eaten everything today?”  
“Breakfast.”  
“I’m gonna make you a veggie wrap.”  
“Qalbi.”   
“I still don’t know what that means.”   
“Unimportant. You made a noise when you slept here last night. I want to hear more.”  
“But I dunno what noise I made.”  
Damian rolled his eyes.  
“Then go to sleep.”  
“But-”  
“Sleep, Kent.”  
Jon laid next to D, snuggling right up to him and pulling him to his chest. It was quiet, for a while, until Damian pet Jon’s side.   
“Haha dude, I’m not Titus.”   
“You’re warm.”   
“Well, yeah, my temp’s like, 105.”  
“Farenheit?”  
“Yeah, duh.”  
“Mnn.” Damian closed his eyes.  
“You keep calling me Kal-bee.”  
“I’m aware.”  
“What does it mean? I mean, it’s probably an insult, but I want to know what you’re saying.”  
“It’s simple Arabic.”   
“So you’re telling me to learn Arabic?”  
“Don’t bother. It’s better if I can talk to some people without you listening in.”   
“You just don’t want to tell me what it means.”  
“Yes.”  
Jon grumbled, but relaxed against the soft pillows and closed his eyes.   
Damian waited until Jon was asleep and purring to kiss his forehead. Gentle hands held him close to Jon’s chest. The darkness shifted and Bruce stepped into the small light from the tablet’s screen, lit with a notification.   
“Hello, father. “  
“Why is Waylon Jones in my yacht?”  
“He has a kryptonite substitute in his blood, and he needs it removed. I promised him he would be safe from both the police and you.”  
“And he agreed to wait?”  
“You don’t know him as well as you think you do. I’m going to remove the chemical and then I will let Waylon go. I will not be telling you where to look for him.”   
“Dami, you’re a smart kid, but Waylon-”  
“If I’m smart, I can make my own decisions father. I’m not excusing him for his crimes, he served his sentence as stated by a judge before they locked him away for his condition instead. He’s not a lab rat, he’s not an animal, he’s a man. Same as you.”   
“Damian he’s not you.”   
Silence as they challenged each other, assessed their conversation and stances, and Bruce relented.   
“Jon came with you, when a kryptonite substitute was involved?”  
“He wanted to look out for me.”  
“It doesn’t sound like you fought him on that much. You know how dangerous kryptonite- even substitutes- can be for him.”  
“I do.”  
“So why did you let him help?”  
“Father, you know Clark is a stubborn idealist, who insists on taking the burden of the entire world on his stupid broad shoulders, and feels personally responsible for the safety of every individual. Yes?”   
“You’re not wrong.”  
“Jon is his father’s son.”  
“But-”  
“Father, when he learned that I took a shot to protect him, he almost expelled a super flare.”  
Bruce’s silence deepened.  
“I would rather have him close, so I can watch him and see what risks he’s taking than leave him stewing only to leap into unnecessary danger.”  
Bruce left the room as quietly as he had entered. Damian slipped a hand up to trace Jon’s cheek, nose, and jaw. He had a cute, pretty little face. His heart, his beloved. Jon’s purring lulled him to sleep quickly, unusually quickly. Softly drifting into the warmth of his kryptonian.   
Clark spoke softly, in an even tone, sitting on the roof. It was a tone he knew Jon would recognize. He was just loud enough to wake him, but quiet enough not to wake Damian.   
“You know that it was very irresponsible to go out tonight, Jon. It’s ok to want to protect your friends, but you need to consider the potential for danger. Stay in the rest of the night. Louis and I will be discussing how long you will be grounded.  
“Our partners are very stubborn people. It’s genetic. Letting them run themselves ragged is a bad plan. I’m sure it would’ve been difficult to talk him out of going out, but telling Dick or Bruce would’ve been better than obliging him. Get some sleep, you mother is coming over tomorrow.”  
He drifted out into the night, leaving Jon to pet D’s hair and breathe deep i his version of paradise. He loved having his friend sleep on his chest, close enough to protect. Warm buddy friend. Jon pulled out his phone and started trying to spell ‘Kal-Be’ right enough to translate. It definitely wasn’t the korean barbecue. Eventually, after looking up the phonetics of Arabic, he found it: ‘My Heart’. A common term of endearment. Jon giggled.   
“Dummy.”


End file.
